World's End
by Kyon of the Crack
Summary: "So, this is how the world ends huh?"
1. Introduction

**World's End**

Crack, crack, crack—the predictable sounds of bones snapping. There's no reason to care: it's a symphony he's heard before over and over again. And it's gotten tiresome, like listening to white noise. Before him, a gang of pretentious hooligans cry and weep, trying to nurse their wrist, leg, arm—or whatever they broke. He hadn't looked when they struck. It was too pathetic of a spectacle that it isn't even worth a sideway glance.

"Are you done now?" he mutters in a weary voice.

No comprehensible answer. Typical. _The shit I put up with, _he thinks as he steps away from the mess of cut sinew, tears and blood below. At least, at night, he doesn't need to endure the accusing stares of onlookers. Without a care in the world, he walks away, leaving yet another mess for the authorities to clean up.

•••

He goes back to his dorm with a slightly stiff gait. As he ascends the stairs, he sees one of his many nameless neighbors—his recollection of names is horrendous—who notices a distinct look in his eyes. At least he isn't wrought with fright at the mere sight of them, unlike the rest.

"So… another gang tried their luck?" the neighbor asks tentatively.

"Hm-hm," he says in a monotone voice. A short silence follows.

When he moves up the steps, his neighbor speaks up, "You want to… I donno, go out drinking sometime? Only if you want to. I know you like to be left alone because—but…" The neighbor scratches the back of his head, the right words not coming to him. There's tangible awkwardness from the neighbor's lack of tact.

He could just tell him that they're both underage and leave it at that. But instead he shakes his head and answers, "It's not my thing." For some reason, his neighbor seems disappointed. Was he expecting him to say yes?

"Oh, OK," the neighbor says with his hands deep in his pockets. "Um, I'll be going now."

Before the neighbor leaves, he asks with a strong voice, "What's your name again?"

Surprised and unsettled by the sudden question, the neighbor veers his head towards him and babbles quickly, "—zura. It's Hamazura I mean."

"Hm. I'll remember that name."

Unsure of the intent behind those words, Hamazura shakes his head sheepishly and goes down the flight of stairs as he does the opposite.

•••

He enters his room, yawns and lies down. Or rather, he lets himself flop on his bed like a lifeless body. He fishes out from his back pocket a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, and proceeds to indulge himself. By the time the cigarette's length becomes non-existent and the stench of chemicals and tobacco fill the room, the annoying itch in his soul is a doused ember. And that's when he notices, as he squishes the cigarette butt into the ashtray on his nightstand—

"So you're a smoker?" a distinctly mild-mannered voice says, almost in a taunting tone. In the hallway stands a shadowy figure that inspects him. "That's the first time I've seen you with_ that trait_, Accelerator_._"

With only faint moonlight piercing through the thick blinds, there's no real eye contact. But the air is heavy, the tension a spark away from exploding. And the spark comes: Accelerator spins his body off the bed in a lightning quick lunge towards the intruder, creating a gust that sweeps the entire apartment. Most couldn't hope to have the reflexes required to dodge such swiftness and raw power—even if they are at peak physical form. Yet somehow, to his astonishment and slight disbelief, Accelerator is grasping at air.

"That's not very polite of you, attacking a guest like that," the stranger taunts further, now on the bed. He has a clearer view and sees that the stranger is a woman, despite the fact that a peculiar mask covers her face. Two bumps jump out of the obsidian skintight suit she dons. "And your place was so tidy," the stranger notes in an ironic manner. Papers, pens, DVDs, cigarettes, butts, ashes and turned over furniture litter the floor and carpet. But thankfully, the coffer maker is intact—it's the only possession he cares for.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Another negotiator? Another offer from the Dark Side?" His posture is aggressive; his words are barked out; his patience is almost spent. "Listen, I don't fucking—"

"Don't be so aggressive. I'm not from the Dark Side." Limply, she lays a hand on her hips and poses like a model during a photo shoot. Without seeing her mouth, he can somehow tell that she's smirking at him. No, worse: _she's outright mocking him_. "I'm not even from around here anyway," she says with an inauthentic, aristocratic huff.

Accelerator wonders why he hasn't continued his attacks. Curiosity? It's not every day someone can just walk in and stand up to him for more than a second. "You're an outsider?" Accelerator asks.

She kicks her legs and stands back up, facing him. "You could say so."

Arrogance. Pure and simple arrogance. _That's what she is emitting_, thinks Accelerator. "You have ten seconds to say your name and tell me why you are in my room. Be glad that I find your stunt amusing."

"A name? What if I don't have one?"

She has one hell of a backbone to dare talk back. Accelerator rolls his eyes and insists, "You have to have one."

Another smirk forms on her lips—he knows it. "_Do you even know your own, Accelerator?_"

The remark makes Accelerator's nerves stiff; he looks at her with a blank, bewildered stare. It strikes him in a way that brings cold sweat to his forehead. _How does she—?_

"If you need a name," she interrupts his thoughts, "call me Keeper." Graciously, she extends a gloved hand in a formal greeting. Yet another hidden smirk appears.

•••

"…milk?"

"No."

"Fine, like me. It's the right way to drink it; no softening up the taste."

Accelerator resorts to courtesy for the time being as he prepares a pot of fresh coffee. The coffee maker and the organic beans he feeds it are all worth a small fortune, but the rich taste it delivers is worth it. For Accelerator, it's only a small portion of his monthly allowance anyway. It's one of the tamest things he could be spending his money on. Others in his position could've gone out every night to sweaty orgies with the money he invests in coffee—and they'd still have leftover cash afterwards.

_The virtues of abstinence, _Accelerator thinks cynically.

Keeper is sitting at the kitchen counter, fingers bunched together below her chin in a calm and thoughtful gesture. With all the lights on, her suit glints occasionally with a strange pulse. Its materials are very advanced technology; it's not in the same league as even the most refined Hard Taping Accelerator is aware of.

"I hope you're only admiring my suit," Keeper says with a smooth voice.

The coffee maker rings, and Accelerator takes out two colorful mugs. One has a citation of Lenin: "For an eye, two eyes. For a tooth, the entire mug." The other has drawings of cute white bunnies kissing. He fills both of them to the brim then shoves one in Keeper's grasp.

"Sorry, I'm not into annoying brats," Accelerator counters.

"Hm-hm."

Keeper doesn't seem to agree, but nods regardless. She brings the mug near her face; the mask morphs around her mouth to let her pale pink lips sip the steaming black coffee. Meanwhile, Accelerator stares, his jaw twitching; a big red vein starts to protrude on his pale forehead. The only reason he had offered coffee in the first place was to get that mask off.

_This woman, _Accelerator mulls while sipping his own coffee. "So? How is it?"

"…It's the best I've ever had," Keeper compliments, smacking her thin lips together, savoring the taste.

"Money well spent then." Accelerator leans his back against the counter and begins to sip his own coffee. "So now, tell me what this is all about. You seem like you mean business to be this informed about me."

"Hm? I'm sorry if I'm giving off the wrong impression, but this has nothing to do about you personally. I happen to know the general events in your life, like that funny little name problem of yours, _since we've met several times before_."

"…What the hell are you babbling about?"

Keeper puts down the mug, and her mask's fabric hides her lips again. "Do you believe it will be ever possible to travel between universes? Through the void between the multiverse's membranes?"

Accelerator's eyes narrow down. After a moment of thinking, he turns around, his brow crumpled into a mess.

"You haven't answered yet," Keeper says plainly.

"You're not going to make me believe you're—" A jolt goes through his brain as he senses something new. Acting as a six sense, his AIM Field has suddenly come in contact with a foreign one of outstanding power. Keeper's suit has subtle red lights flickering in its fabric.

"That suit, it—"

"Controls AIM emissions to camouflage my energy signature? Among other things."

Most AIM fields he couldn't even notice were there. But this one is overwhelming by its complexity—one that outdoes anything that has been accomplished by Academy City to this day. If she wants to, Keeper could easily crush him _and_ Number One by clicking her fingers. That, he has no doubts about. Her previous remark then repeats in his mind,_ 'I'm not even from around here anyway.'_ Putting two and two together, he figures out what exactly is going on, and who Keeper really is. Even if he knows it's ridiculous—almost impossible to conceive—he can't ignore it.

"Oi, don't crap your pants," Keeper pipes up, waving her hand in front of his face.

Accelerator stays still and shakes his head, muttering a few words to himself in a fit of disbelief: "What the hell, what the hell, what the hell…"

•••

After Accelerator had gotten over the shock of discovering he was having a cup of coffee with someone able to navigate the deepest layers of reality and travel across the multiverse, an hour of esoteric conversations followed until midnight. About everything and nothing. Surprisingly, he managed to grasp what Keeper said without her simplifying her vocabulary.

With the coffee pot empty, the clock now at 12:00 AM and their last conversation now coming to a close, Keeper summarizes her thoughts, "Infinite universes equals infinite possibilities. Of course, in the scope of reasonableness and logical coherency. I doubt you'll ever find a universe where human beings evolved so that their heads and asses swapped places. In a certain sense, there are a finite number of universes. But for the sake of succinctness, it amounts to infinity for us humans."

Accelerator is seated on a stool next to Keeper and nods, "Yeah, that's what I figured."

"But you never know how events will end up. Determinism and Free Will are simplistic ways of looking at the way reality works out. Some things are written in stone, some aren't, and some can be erased and rewritten. Even someone with my abilities can't even begin to account for all this and find the objective truth. That task might be accomplished by someone with a Personal Reality that can account for every fundamental aspects of reality."

A thought emerges and Accelerator voices it, "That sounds like what Level 6 is supposedly—someone who can do God's calculations. Despite being a bunch atheists, the scientists in this city seem closer to theologians that empirical scientists sometimes."

Keeper's head tilts to the side. "Oh, so you know about that?"

"Heard about it. Rumors say that Number One has been trying to achieve it for years. I couldn't care less."

Keeper laughs softly. She has a tendency to do that. A lot. It annoys him slightly knowing Keeper is keeping a lot of knowledge to herself. Not that he can blame her: it must be the strangest feeling to see the same people in so many different situations.

"So how many variations of me have you encountered?" Accelerator inquires.

"A few. Most were identical besides minor details."

"Minor details?"

"Gender, power level, general attitude. Things like that."

"…I can't imagine myself as a woman. I rather not even try to."

"You were rather cute though," Keeper comments. And he's convinced that she's smirking under that mask of hers.

"Anyway," says Accelerator. "You still haven't told me why you're here. Talking like this is fine and all, but I'd like to know what's going on for you to be coming to this universe in particular."

"Hm. I guess I've been procrastinating for long enough," Keeper sighs. She walks off into the main living area of the apartment and remains silent as she thinks deeply. "I don't choose where I go usually. I have a boss. This is what I do in life. Despite my power and abilities, I need assistance. I need directions if I don't want to end up lost in a weird pocket of reality someday. It's not like I surf carefree through the multiverse y'know?"

"I see."

Keeper tenses up. "And—ugh, I don't really know how to say this."

"Is it that bad?"

Keeper wrings her hands. "Um, yeah. Sorry."

Accelerator clucks his tongue. "Just say it. I'm just about ready for anything."

"Well… You were born—I mean this specific universe was born just recently in cosmic time, due to the intervention of an incredibly powerful being. Or beings. And actually, there might be more universes like this one. We're not entirely sure yet."

"Get to the point."

"To put it simply, this universe is missing a variable—a critical variable. Without it, your world will quickly collapse into a primitive, cosmic chaos without form."

Accelerator can only snort—a quick, shaky snort. What else can he do? There's no use in getting emotional when faced with something so absurd. "It's taking its sweet fuckin' time though."

"That's what you think," says Keeper carefully. "But from what we can figure out_, this world is only a few hours old_."

Accelerator springs out of his seat. "W-What?"

"Yes, I know, you have memories. But think of it this way. Imagine if I were to take the source code of a complex computer program. Now, imagine if I made an exact copy of that then deleted a line of programming critical for the program's overall stability. It's quite close to what this universe is. You may think you lived here for fifteen years, but that's just residue from being a copy."

Nothing comes out at first. Broken words, onomatopoeia, but certainly nothing comprehensible.

Accelerator takes a deep breath and says, "So my memories, they are—"

"Only figments of your imagination? In a way. It happened to you. However, you are mistaken in thinking you actually lived them. Somebody who is exactly like you did, in the unaltered universe used to make this one hours ago. At least, that's the best explanation I have as of now. Not even my boss knows for sure though."

"…"

"I understand it's a lot to take in. But you're the only one I can trust with this information. _Even if your role here is lesser that what you usually are._"

"…"

"It's hard to explain the specific cosmic mechanics, but the general flow of events in this universe is derived from another. The difference being that whoever spawned this universe, for whatever reason, took out the critical variable and—"

SLAM.

The violence of the hit startles even Keeper. "A-Accelerator?"

"So," the albino says slowly, his clenched fist buried in the now broken dry wall. "So long story short, my universe is fucked?"

Keeper doesn't want to answer, but she bobs her head up and down.

"…is there still time?"

"It's hard to estimate. It all depends on the different distortions this world faces from this point on."

"And what's that exactly?"

"I can't explain that to you without grasping at straws. But know this: the variable that's missing acts like a recovery console for a computer. If core system files are corrupted, you can restore them with a backup version in memory. However, this universe has no such thing. So, if the core files of this world are corrupted beyond repair, it's over."

"So I have to avoid possible distortions?"

"If you can keep large-scale conflicts from occurring, this can buy me and my boss precious time."

"Large-scale conflict? Not conventional wars I guess."

"Yes. I mean major uses of esper and magical powers. Especially at once."

"…magical powers?"

"Ugh, yeah. Those exist too. It's really complicated."

Accelerator rubs his temples and groans.

Keeper knows she can't stay here much longer; there are many matters she has to attend to. With a haw, she reaches for her hips, where her suit morphs to reveal a hidden pocket. "Almost forgot—my boss wanted me to give you this." Gingerly, she goes up to him and puts a tiny black vial in his right palm.

"What's this?" Accelerator wonders.

"No idea. Read what it says."

Indeed, a note is glued on it. It reads: 'Do not open. Keep this in your pockets at all time. When faced by an impassable wall, only then can you use it. You will know when.'

"Got it," says Accelerator, dropping it into his back pocket along with his lighter and cigarette pack. Even if he has no real hope, he won't refuse the slim chance Keeper and her superior are offering him. Whoever they are. "And what about you? I doubt you're going to stick around."

"I'm going to try to find a fix for this universe," Keeper announces. "Even if the variable is missing here, my boss thinks we can import a stray one."

"Stray?"

"Considering how there are infinite universes, perhaps we can find a variable that's in limbo somewhere. Don't think we're going to steal one from a functioning universe. We have standards when it comes to these delicate operations."

"Alright."

Keeper lingers on the albino before strutting to the window. She pushes the blinds aside, and a shining full moon greats them. "If this universe hasn't collapsed in on itself by the time I come back, _we can save it_."

"…"

"Oh, and Accelerator…"

"Yeah?"

"It was nice knowing you anyhow."

And in a nanosecond Keeper vanishes out of existence. As if she's only a product of his imagination. Accelerator wishes he could trust himself enough to not consider the possibility that he has been hallucinating all this time. Already, he misses Keeper's lively presence.

And now he stands alone, feeling a crushing sensation of loneliness in his chest. He's the only one who knows. He's been unchained and dragged out to the cavern to see that what he took as reality is but an illusion.

"Knowing that your days are numbered changes your mindset," Accelerator rumbles. With a newfound and sudden craving for new experiences, he remembers the offer made by his blond-haired neighbor. _Hamadura was it? I guess I'll have to take him up on that offer._ Accelerator stands there, chewing his bottom lip absentmindedly. Slowly, he lights up a cigarette and chews on it too, like dumb cattle grazing pasture.

"So, this is how the world ends huh?" he says to himself, hearing the words echo in his empty, messy apartment.


	2. Chapter 1

**Special Thanks for Beta-ing to my good friend Rubix22.**

**World's End**

**Chapter 1**

Accelerator can't sleep. He tried to force himself to despite the caffeine, but all he had accomplished was rolling around in his bed sheets, restless as ever. It's nigh impossible to relax with this kind of weight on his shoulders. How could he let himself dream after that? It'd be hard to figure out whether you are awake or sleeping. So Accelerator contented with the fact that he would not get a night's sleep tonight. And then the chain smoking began. And before he knew it, his entire cigarette pack was gone.

Accelerators hacks a bit and sighs long and deep. The most depressing fact is that he feels even more on edge than before going through the pack. He digs his fingers into his jowls and growls in displeasure. The room is lit only by his TV playing the finale of Breaking Bad. However, he doesn't care about it at all. _That shit's too depressing now,_ Accelerator thinks. Only a few hours ago, he would've strangled anyone who would've dared to voice such a blasé opinion about the_ goddamn finale _of his favorite show.

On Accelerator's lap is a Rubik's cube. After making a mess of his apartment, some old things had been thrown out onto the floor, including this. It's a toy a certain researcher had given him years ago to warm up before exercises and tests, back when concentration was problematic for his power's development. He has shuffed the cube back and forth from messy to complete 22 times while watching the TV.

_Why am I even playing with this crap? It got boring before I even finished it once, _thinks Accelerator with a certain amount of nostalgia. He looks at the Rubik's cube and a question pops up,_ Actually, is it spelled with a 'k' or an 'x' at the end? Wait, what am I thinking? How am I even asking myself what the English spelling is since my thoughts are in Japanese and—ugh… _

That makes Accelerator think—god, he hates when that happens now. _Nothing is what _I_ remember. It's somebody else's memories; somebody else's actions_. _This Rubik's cube isn't really mine; my skills aren't my own…_

Even if Keeper tried to reassure him, and even if he understands what he is supposed to be, it isn't easy to handle the fact. Is he _really_ who he thinks he is? Is what he thinks authentic to himself or merely a reiteration of somebody else's psychology? Doesn't this mean he has no free will at all? Pure fatalism? So many questions start turning his brain into a fine pâté, but his main existential problem is this: How could he handle masquerading in another person's skin?

For the better, his internal struggle is interrupted when hasty successive knocks come from the front door. _At this hour? _He forces himself to go to the door, Rubik's cube still in hand. He speaks glued to the door in an annoyed voice, "Who the hell is this?"

"H-Hey! You're there! Thank god!"

Accelerator eyes go wide in surprise. "Hamadura?"

"Uh, what? It's Hamazura dude."

Accelerator blinks. "Oh."

"N-Nevermind that," Hamazura says hastily. "I have a serious emergency here!"

Without delay, Accelerator removes the chain lock on his door and opens. Hamazura looks haggard and flustered, and legitimately overwhelmed. "I found this kid," he says while gesturing erratically. "I was walking back from my friend's place when I noticed her trailing me. She was walking around naked and barefooted with only a ragged cloth on her body, and she speaks all weird, and she followed me here—AND I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT TO DO!" Hamazura then holds his hand against his chest, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. "A-And you know," Hamazura mumbles quickly, "I don't want Anti-Skill to think I did anything gross with this little girl…"

Accelerator looks on, an eyebrow jumping to the edge of his scalp. Swiftly, he moves a finger between himself and the confused blond, and says, "You see this finger?"

Hamazura looks on with confusion. "Uh?"

And the finger swings from side to side, and Hamazura's eyes follow it until he grows confused enough to ask, "What are we doing?"

Accelerator immediately halts his movement and nods to himself. "Yeah, your eyes aren't sluggish, and you seem sober enough. You're just a bit of a hysteric and anxious."

Hamazura grips at his hair and howls in desperation, "Argh, what kind of a judgmental person are you?! This is no laughing matter! We might be dealing with a child molestation case! Don't make these sorts of complacent jokes, Level 5!"

Accelerator rolls his eyes and lets out a world-weary sigh. "Just show me, alright? I can handle the cops while you have your panic attack in the bathroom."

After Hamazura regained a certain amount of composure, he led Accelerator to his room. He unlocks the front door and ushers Accelerator in. "Sorry for disturbing you," the albino says ironically.

It's surprisingly tidy for a run-of-the-mill student with no apparent worth or research worthy esper ability. Hamazura heads right into the living room and surveys the area. "Can you see if she's in the bathroom?" he asks with visible worry. "On your right."

Without tact, Accelerator forces it open, but it's deserted. He shakes his head at Hamazura.

"Um, well, she has to here," Hamazura insists and nods to himself. "I mean, she was frolicking around when I snuck out to get you."

"Could she have run off?"

Taking Accelerator's suggestion, Hamazura hastily checks his apartment's windows and the balcony door. "Nope, it's nothing here. Front door was just locked too."

As the blond says this and starts mumbling to himself, Accelerator arrives in the living room. He stands there with an irked expression. "By any chance, you wouldn't happen to have a reliance on hallucinogenic drugs?" Accelerator jabs with a thin, mocking smirk.

Of course, Hamazura goes upright and straight as a ruler when he hears this. He hasn't understood Accelerator's sense of humor, so he starts prattling to defend his faltering pride, "How could a poor student like myself even afford that kind of crap?!"

"Drugs are becoming surprisingly cheap these days," Accelerator snorts.

"I can't even stand cigarette smoke! How could I handle—"And suddenly, a cloaked midget jumps out from underneath the window drapes and hooks its arms around Hamazura, who is miming and gesturing to add a dramatic effect to his plea of innocence.

"Surprise! says Misaka as Misaka attempts a practical joke!" And the scaredy-cat Hamazura Shiage starts screaming in terror, unaware that he is giving some tawny-haired kid with an ahoge a piggy back ride—one that she is enjoying thoroughly. "Yay! This is something Misaka wanted to try! exclaims Misaka as Misaka—eeep!" Accelerator yanks off the brat as Hamazura runs past him; and he glares down at her, his red eyes searing. "Hey, that wasn't very nice of you! Misaka was busy experiencing the Hamazura-style rodeo—"

"Shut the fuck up, brat," Accelerator snarls viciously. "You have a lot of nerve to be playing jokes when you're causing this guy so much worry, and when you're bothering me, the Number Two Level 5. So I'd suggest you straighten out pretty fuckin' quick or I'll have to teach you a life lesson or two."

He talks to her like he does with anyone else: rough, straight to the point, and wholly inconsiderate. Perhaps even a sprinkle of intentional cruelty. But then, the brat's eyes well up with big, salty tears; her body shakes uncontrollably like a loose leaf in autumn, and she lowers her head in shame.

Hamazura, who by that time had stopped his marathon and understood what had jumped him, says only the Level 5's name: "Accelerator." It's not in a neutral tone; it seems like he wants to berate Accelerator for what he had done to the kid. But being that Accelerator could easily have a mood swing and could very well decide to decapitate him on the spot, he swallows whatever words he has in his throat.

Accelerator clicks his tongue and lowers himself to be face to face with this kid. "Oi, your name's Misaka right?" he says with purposeful gentleness.

"M-Misaka's name is L-Last Order, says Misaka a-as Misaka…"

Accelerator isn't about to question her on that strange name, or that odd way of talking, or what she is exactly. Rather, he holds up the Rubik's cube he had kept in one hand and shows it to Last Order. "You ever seen one of these?"

Last Order snivels for a moment and shakes her head from side to side

"It's called a Rubik's cube," Accelerator says while shuffling the cube back to its complete state. "The point of the game is to shuffle these parts from being messy to like so. Of course, _only smart kids can pull this off_." With a few fast twists, the cube is back to a messy, resolvable state. "But I'm sure _you_ can pull that off while me and Hamazura here talk a bit."

Last Order's face is clear of sadness. It's now filled with amazement and curiosity. "Are you challenging Misaka at this game? asks Misaka as Misaka wants to be sure she understands."

"Yeah," Accelerator nods then stands back up. "Finish it by yourself and I'll get you whatever ice cream you want tomorrow."

"You swear? says Misaka as Misaka suspects you might be playing a sick game."

Accelerator clicks his tongue again and brings one of his pinky fingers to view. "Put yours around mine, shake it twice, and let go. That means if I go back on my word, I'll get struck by lightning, run over by a train then pissed on by a tanooki. That's how serious I am."

It means nothing to him considering his powers even if it does happen, but the rhetorical effect is what matters as it wows Last Order. The two of them make the pinky swear; and Last Order goes to sit down quietly on the couch while fiddling the Rubik's cube. All the while, Hamazura gapes at the scene he has witnessed, thinking that he should've stealthily taken a picture of this.

"Wow," Hamazura whistles at the near silence accomplished. "You have some talent with this."

Accelerator shakes his head while his eyes are on Last Order. "It's nothing."

"No, really. That's some parental instincts you have."

Accelerator's eye twitches, and he mechanically rotates his head. "Are you implying something?"

Hamazura holds out his hands with a deer-in-headlights look, unable to understand Accelerator's change. Had he just said anything insulting? Although the unfortunate Hamazura can't possibly know, the gender neutral term 'parental' is what irritates the gangly albino. "I mean, you had the tone of a father mixed with the tenderness of a mother and I thought it was amazing—"

"What," Accelerator says blankly. His eyes are boiling, and veins start to pop on his head.

Hamazura senses the danger level rising despite his efforts to compliment the albino esper. "I-I don't know what I'm doing right now to get you in a bad mood, but please calm down!"

"So you aren't making a comment on—you know." Accelerator grunts and looks at himself with self-awareness. "_This_."

Hamazura scratches his head and inspects Accelerator with careful eyes. "Well, now that you mention it, you do look slightly effeminate—"

In half a second, Accelerator pins down Hamazura on the floor in a wrestling move known in the business as "The Snappy Back." It consists of holding your opponent on top as you grip their ankles and shoulders while jamming your knee right into their back.

"Say uncle you shithead!" Accelerator hisses. "Say it. Say it! SAY ITTT!"

"ARGHHH! UNCLE! DON'T SNAP MY SPINE IN HALF! UNCLE UNCLE UNCLEEE!"

"Ssh! says Misaka as Misaka thinks hard about how obtain her ice cream and asks for a proper work environment!"

•••

Mark Space is an Englishman thus a perfect gentleman—a servant whose training comes from the greatest maids of the British Royal Family. And he hates his life. Every moment brings him closer to a noose rather than a well-earned retirement. His very existence is despised, and he continues to be rolled around in mud and pig shit and vomit and aborted fetuses _every single day_. He struggles each time he goes to sleep, wondering if he should or should not use the handgun he keeps tucked under his pillow to splatter his gray matter all over his mattress. Simply put, being Mark is pain. But, having taken the oath of the servant, he strives on with his unrelenting warrior spirit. If anything, manservants are resilient.

It's past midnight in the foulest, most debauched section of District 10, date now September 1st. Mark has been walking through some alleys for a few minutes to find a black van with his target in it. Mark plans for all possibilities; and finding _him_, the _child_ he has to care for, is as easy as the act of _whistling_.

"Well, have you found him yet?" asks the voice in his wireless earpiece.

"Up ahead. This will take a short moment, Kihara-sama. Please hold."

There it is, the blank van, as the tracker software on his phone indicates. It's swinging side to side incessantly; muffled yet horrifying howls escape its confines. Some would say that the car is possessed by an evil spirit; certain pious minds would ask forgiveness for the lost souls engaged in the sinful ritual inside.

Mark arrives at the van and raises a fist. Knock. Knock. Knock. There's no answer and erratic, murderous screams keep emanating from inside. So Mark continues, as this is what he must do—it's his duty. Knock. Knock. Knock. Finally the shaking subsides; there's a minute of stillness. Then a teenager swings the van door open then closes immediately. But Mark gets a momentary glimpse inside, and he sees a raven-haired beauty holding her clothes over her front, with a broken headband in one hand. Her frustration and spite for Mark are apparent.

The teen leans in, his square jaw inches from Mark's. He's glaring silently, fiddling to button up his shirt. His collarbone has big smudges of lipstick on, along with his neck and even a little bit on his cheeks.

"Yesssssss Mark?" he drawls out menacingly, a dangerous light in his aqua eyes.

"Waka-sama, I'm sorry to be interrupting you, but your father wanted to talk to you urgently about—"

The youth's fist clashes with Mark's jaw with a brutal pop, and he starts screeching and screaming out obscenities, "WHAT THE FUCK'S YOUR FUCKIN' PROBLEM YOU FUCKING FAGGOT?! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M FUCKIN' BUSY FUCKING YOU FUCKIN' FUCK FUCK—"

"Y-Your… f-father…"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE SENILE OLD FUCK! YOU THINK THIS IS FUCKIN' FUNNY TO JUST KNOCK ON MY FUCKIN' CAR WHILE I'M BANGING A SEX GODDESS YOU FUCKIN' FUCK FUCK—"

Mark coughs out a soup of blood and teeth from his mouth; his consciousness is near naught. Mark extends his faltering hand with his earpiece to his young master, who notices it; he snags it swiftly, then spits on Mark. Now that his duties are fulfilled, Mark lets himself fade away, for a little while at least.

"Daaaaaaad," the teen says while adjusting the earpiece. "Go fuck offffff somewhere in Hawaii and dieeeeee of old age. And do it faster pleaseeeee."

"Love you too Nirushu-kun," Amata coos sarcastically. "But this is urgent."

"Is this important enough that it can't wait for another half hour?" A smug huff escapes Nirushu's lips. "Because man, I hit the jackpot tonight."

"It better not be another dumb ass blonde, because that last girl made me want to pluck out her fuckin' vocal cords out every time she—"

"Oya, watch your fuckin' tongue," Nirushu hisses out. "I haven't forgiven you for that fiasco yet. So don't push me, old man, else I'm just going to hang up and go take a shit in your fridge."

"Tsk. Fine, fine."

As he is easing the soreness in his neck and smirks, Nirushu winds his wrists and stretches his arms out towards the sky. "So, what's the problem?"

"It's Radio Noise," says Amata in a flat tone.

"What, did one of the guys at Level 6 Shift suddenly go rogue after it got cancelled? Because that'd be hilarious."

Amata doesn't confirm or deny, as he is simply telling what he knows: "Someone let 20,001 out of her storage tank."

Nirushu is unfazed by what he hears; it sounds like a fun little challenge to tackle. "The Control Tower? That's interesting. Only a few know she exists," Nirushu notes. Glimpsing above, his eyes fill with the glimmers of the shining full moon. Since his childhood, he has always felt an attachment to the cool moon. "But, when did anyone even notice she was gone?"

"The facility she was being stored in only had one employee left packing belongings tonight. It took time for someone to notice since none of the alarms went off."

"Nothing at all?"

"Apparently not. That employee who found out tried to contact superiors, but they had all left for vacations. The info ended up transferred to me a few minutes ago."

Nirushu cackles to himself; a maniacal, face-splitting grin takes over his entire face. "Ho ho ho, now my interest is piqued. This is one hell of an insider we're dealing with if he disabled every safety mechanisms in place and just waltzed in."

"Good, because this is your case. Get to the root of this, and I'll have Hound Dog find out where 20,001 might be at."

"Wait… _you don't know where she is_?" This new information wipes away the amusement on Nirushu's features, replacing it with a frown.

"She's not connected to the Misaka Network," admits Amata.

Nirushu imagines the hysteria that would consume a few Directors if word got out of this. "There's something fishy going on here," he assesses. "Whoever let her out probably didn't leave it at that. We might be dealing with someone that has good enough knowledge of Radio Noise to bring it to its knees with a few lines of code slipped into the Control Tower's brain."

"I fucking know that," Amata scoffs. "Why do you think I called_ you_, you shitty brat? You know more details about all this boring shit than me."

"I'm no expert," says Nirushu. "I know the specs of the units, the neural structure of the Misaka Network, and I set up parts of the cloning procedure years ago. Besides that, I haven't bothered with what ojiisan was doing with Level 6 Shift. He has so many Level 6 research projects that I can't take him seriously. He's just fucking around with whatever, trying to trigger a eureka moment in whatever retard he gets his hands on. It's not the methodological science I'd expect from our family's patriarch."

Amata groans at what he perceives as his son's fake modesty and verbal prattling. "Can you at least fix this?"

"For what kind of scientist do you take me? Even if I didn't have any background information to rely on, I'd figure it all out eventually. Just get a Testament ready and sedate Last Order when you find her."

"Fine. I'll send the data I have to your phone. Oh, and speaking about that…" There's a sudden shift in Amata's otherwise bored demeanor. "Why the fuck did you turn off your phone? I had to have that tool Mark come and find you. It's a fuckin' bother."

A thin smile emerges on Nirushu's lips. "What can I say? A man needs his privacy sometimes."

"And that's why you're just a _Waka-sama_: you're not dedicated enough, you shitty brat."

Nirushu's eyelids twitch at the sudden reproach. With calm, he mutters into the receiver, "The hell is that supposed to mean, old fart?"

"A true Kihara doesn't waste his nights prowling for women, s_lutbag_."

Nirushu is going to snap back and call him an oozing, leathery cuntface, but the line goes dead. _Always gets the last word, always, _he thinks. _And what's wrong with being a slutbag? _

Nevertheless, his mind doesn't dwell as it's already a simmering stew of ideas and plans. First, he would go see the crime scene for himself, gather the crucial clues, and then mull over a cup of coffee. And from there on out, the rest of his investigation would be a walk in the park.

Whoever the culprits turn out to be—it's already clear to him that there's several collaborators involved—Nirushu has a few ways to crush whatever resistance they can put up. All of them hilarious and illegal under the Geneva Conventions. Not that Nirushu is looking forward to the tediousness of the coming hours—he would prefer not to bother with wet works at all. On the other hand, it has been a long time since he has dismembered someone limb to limb over some Bob Marley. The act itself brings him mysterious pleasure; infesting the core of a human's psyche with despair and fright before severing their main arteries is just something you can appreciate once in a while.

Before hopping in the driver seat, Nirushu peers down at Mark, who appears to be suffering from cranial trauma. There's a pang of guilt in his chest, but he decides to focus on more important matters rather than a worthless and replaceable pawn. "He can handle himself," Nirushu says to himself. "He always does."

Sinking into the cushy leather seat, Nirushu lazily jams a key in the ignition and turns on the onboard GPS. A few expert flicks of his fingers across the touchscreen plus a quick review of the data now on his cellphone, and his location is settled on the facility 20,001 was stored in. Apparently, the employee who discovered the crime is still there, which is perfect. He would need someone to fetch some data from the Misaka Network for a proper diagnostic.

But Nirushu's quick series of thoughts grind to a halt as tailored nails graze his nape from behind in circular patterns. Whenever he gets caught up in his own little world, Nirushu forgets to pay attention around him. Such as now, as he had momentarily forgotten that he fancies himself as the geekiest playboy in town. Assuming that's even an actual title worth bragging about.

"Welcome back, boy," a sultry voice whispers against his ear.

One arm reaches for his forearm to pull him away from the gearshift while another crawls around the hollows of his back. Calm and soft breathing tickles his ears and tense backbone in tortuous ways. And shit, his heart booms in his chest, craving more. "Um, Kumokawa, right?" Nirushu says, his mind foggy as he's thoroughly enjoying the heat of her flushed skin and the long, rough strokes of her nails from his neck to scalp.

"You even remember my name," she sighs, and her eyelashes flutter for a second. "But call me Seria." And the way she's extending her squirming body forward from the back seat gives him quite a sight to behold. Nirushu's throat feels dry; his cock throbs in a mix of confusion, lust and fatigue. All his self-control stops himself from leaping back there and turning the car into a puddle of sour, pungent fluids.

"I appreciate your interest, Seria, but I'm dealing with an emergency here and I have to—"

"Tsk, shush your mouth," Seria scolds, fingers digging into his jaw line. With sinuous movements, she shifts onto his lap, legs straddling the front seat. She beholds all her naked glory—every centimeter of milky and engorged skin, ticklish fuzz and hairs both above and below. With a throw, her head goes back in a showy manner to let her dark locks flow in the air.

Kiharas are usually content with sublimating whatever urges they have into science and gruesome experiments. But instead, Nirushu blows off steam the only reasonable way he knows how to: womanizing late into the night and adding ranks under his black belt of love. Assuming that love means luring women under his control with a few jokes, suggestive looks, and alcohol.

But this latest conquest—Nirushu hopes Seria isn't a light drinker—is a whole different matter. This woman is a priceless gem compared to what he usually scrapes off the dance floors and supposedly elite all-girl schools. Unlike other women who are, for all intents and purposes, powerless against his hypotonic seduction skills, Kumokawa Seria had put up an extraordinary resistance. Though the moment he had realized how high of a caliber of this gal was, he had adjusted his game accordingly; a few words about the ongoing negotiations between Japan and Academy City for the latter's recognition as a city-state had been enough to set the stage for flirting proper. Once her defenses had been breached, it hadn't taken long to entice both her mind and body.

"I do hope you're going to get me a new headband after what you did," Seria suggests while patting the top of her head. But the flicker in her eyes tells him it's not optional—it's a demand.

"I could get you a headband made of flexible gold-plated materials and diamond ornaments. " Nirushu isn't even sure if he's kidding or if he's serious. It might be both. Or perhaps his fuses blew from trying to decide whether or not he should motorboat her breasts or lap her cooch up like a purring kitten does with warm milk. "To tell you the truth, I could probably borrow some experimental jet plane on a whim if I wanted to and violate several airspaces without too much trouble. Relatively speaking, money is a laughing matter to me."

Seria leans further, pressing him into his seat. "A man with confidence and power. I do like that."

"It's not really—" Nirushu lets out a startled gasp as Seria starts feeling up his junk while tweaking his loose belt buckle. "No, I can't—"

Seria whips her head again and gazes at him with big bubbly innocent eyes. "Hmm?" She yanks down his trousers and boxers to his knees, and coaxes out his unwilling erection with lazy up and down strokes.

"Don't 'hmm' me while jerking my meat!" Nirushu snaps quickly. "It's an emergency! I have to go!"

"An emergency? What kind of emergency?" Despite showing interest in what he says, Seria is intent on the piece of hard flesh pointing upwards which visibly craves her touch.

"It's my job," Nirushu croaks as he bites down on his lip. He isn't about to reveal that his family name isn't Furukawa; he isn't about to reveal that he's from the notorious family who founded and runs this entire city. A woman of her intelligence, if she knows what's good for her, would run away from anyone named Kihara. The last thing he has in mind right now is scaring off this gal. "People's lives depend on me," Nirushu insists in a deep, breathy voice. Even if it's a complete and utter lie—he wouldn't care if thousands died if it fit his own goals—he has to posture.

Seria nods at his words, seemingly unaware of the terrible poker face he displays. The only head she has her eyes on his slick, swollen red one. "You're an interesting boy," Seria muses as she stands. "So valiant that he tries to resist temptations." She raises her hips and holds his hardness against her sore, puffy, but happily dripping ladybits. "But I bet you'd want to enjoy another round before spending a sleepless night playing hero." Then she sinks downs and takes his length whole without a grunt of discomfort. And her body starts pumping like a well-oiled piston.

"K-Kuh!" Nirushu's composure falters. His brow quivers as a tint of diluted pink spreads on his cheeks. "You woman, don't play with me or else—!"

Seria turns her head to the side and notes half-heartedly, "Don't these new GPS systems have automation?"

Nirushu blinks. "Huh?"

"That type of GPS—it has an automated driving system I think."

There's a stunned silence apart from silent intakes and damp skin slapping. Seria laughs heartily while pressing her hands down on his collarbone to angle her body better. "Are you kidding me?" Nirushu mumbles in disbelief.

"Well," Seria drawls, and she takes a good look around, "the windows _are_ tinted."

A jaw droops naturally as no words make their way out. Nirushu has always believed in a certain principle when it came to seduction: a flabby midget with confidence could easily overwhelm a seven foot tall Amazon from the depths of the African forests. But now, frankly, he does feel like a midget, unworthy and out of his league with this Kumokawa chick. Without a word, Nirushu reaches out for the GPS touchscreen and does find an option for "Intelligent Driving."He turns it on immediately, and the van already moves out of the alley.

"Driving you to the specified destination," announces the GPS voice.

Seria beams at him; her hips movement become more subtle, less aggressive. "I really do have an exhibitionist side to already be enjoying this," she moans out with delight.

Nirushu smirks; he catches her waist in a strong hold, and already he feels goose bumps all over. "I bet you're the kind of girl that spends her uneventful days in panties, alternating between serious and diligent work and just fooling around."

Seria winks. "That only makes me more desirable, no?"

"Damn skippy it does!"

Those nails start to dig into his shoulder plates. Seria glues her chest to his, and the crazy hot beats inside pound in their ears. She wets her red lips and stares for a moment before closing the short gap. "M-Mind tilting your head a little so I can see the road?" sputters out Nirushu in a hurry, interrupting Seria's kiss. "I-In case this thing craps out?"

Seria blinks for a moment, but then she nuzzles the crook of his neck, suckling the skin she nabs with her lips and teeth. It leaves clear love bites. With an eye out focused on the road, and the rest of his body savoring the sweaty fuck in every possible sensory detail, he feels a sudden sting in the back of his head.

…_did I just say something wrong?_

•••

It's a phone call between two individuals from two vastly different spectrums of talent; between Science and Magic; between disbelief and faith.

"Paul."

"Greetings, Mary. I take it you've done what we discussed?"

"Yes. I'll be handling this part by myself, so don't interfere unless other magicians do. And I've told you to stop calling me that—hours ago. I'm not even a virgin anyway, so I am unworthy of that title. You could say I'm a Bloody Mary though."

"Not all Christians believe in the virginal birth. Or even that the Lord has truly set foot on earth."

"I could not care less about your sectarian dogma, Paul."

"And about your name. You're the one who hasn't told me yours."

"…if you have such confidence that you've given yourself the Thirteen's name, then I guess you won't mind if I take up such a name. Would you?"

"The Twelve hold no truths; their names have no significance to me."

"Then call me Cephas."

"As you wish, rock. You're the one who wanted to be partners. Even if we have two different objectives, and I can't even fathom yours, I'm not one to fret. Your arrival is no mere coincidence: it's one of the many signs of the Revelation of the Lord to all the nations."

"Sure, whatever."

"Although you've touched the Father differently than I, we are merely using a different approach."

"…I'm not even going to comment on that one."

"For my part, dear Cephas, I will go recover the living library that holds the knowledge of a 103,000 grimoires. Such a library at our disposition will be a valuable asset, even if I have no free access to its treasures. At least for now."

"Don't get too cocky. You're going to catch the attention of all major denominations of Christianity if you compromise the Index. Even more so if you show off you power."

"You're entirely correct. But, then, that is no worry of mine. The Good One will guide me as I lay before the heathens _the_ _contradictions of their faith_."

The call between these two unlikely allies ends.

It is only then that Cephas curses the man's name and his ridiculous beliefs.

But, silently, she thanks him for being a willing pawn and magnet.

It is exactly what she needs to start her fight against the eternal tyranny of a Demon God.

With GNOSIS, avenging the loved ones in her heart is a dream one step closer to reality.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

Hello. I'll keep these notes short as I rather not say much about the plot. Next chapter is when shit starts to go down. So much about avoiding distortions…

About the characterization of canon characters. As you can see, the psychology of AU!Accelerator and AU!Hamazura is different from Canon!Accelerator and Canon!Hamazura even if it's subtle sometimes. This is intentional. I'm not trying to follow their established character. I build around what I perceive as the core being of the person. Readers can start raising OOC concerns when canon characters come into play.

Little details are a big part of this story. Plenty is said, referenced and implied, but I don't dwell on it too much. So keep an eye out for foreshadowing, hints, etc. Because there's already tons of that in the Introduction and this chapter.

"Again, it's like poetry, so that they rhyme, every stanza rhymes with the next one." – George Lucas, rambling during a crack high.

…I have a weird obsession with semicolons. Thanks to Rubix-chan, I'll actually be using them properly from now on. Sometimes I get weird typing tics and fuck around with the syntax for no other reason that it looks pretty to me. This is why betas are essential: to bring you back to reality. Went ahead and fixed a few punctuation mistakes in the Introduction with that in mind.


	3. Chapter 2

**Special Thanks for Beta-ing _again _to Rubix22. Jamais deux sans trois.**

**World's End**

**Chapter 2**

Light precipitation rattles the windows. The repetitiveness soothes Accelerator's ears; something about rain hitting glass and the ambient noise it produces is calming. When storms hit the city, especially well into the night, he sometimes switches off all the lights, sits in bed and listens until he falls asleep. Right now, it gets him a bit sleepy, but he's nowhere near a state favorable to dozing.

The albino stands in Hamazura's cramped kitchen, having squeezed himself into a corner while Hamazura begins fixing something to eat. Still drawn in by the Rubik's cube, Last Order makes grimaces while her neurons fire in futile attempt at re-solving it. As of five minutes ago, she has one of Hamazura's t-shirts and a pair of black socks on. All oversized and baggy for her size, but better than a birthday suit and a ragged cloth. The shirt is long enough to go below her knees, and Last Order concurred that it's soft on the skin and smells nice. However at first, she fought against it with nice sentimental feelings for the cloth. So, Accelerator had forcibly taken away the cloth and slipped her into the shirt, despite Last Order's protests and embarrassed whining.

"So, what do you think?" Hamazura asks under his breath while oiling up a pan and placing bread slices in a small oven.

"That's no ordinary kid," Accelerator says in an even more discreet tone, his eyes watching over Last Order.

"You mean?"

"Let's leave that for after she eats. Digestion ought to calm her down a bit. Then I can find out more." Truth is, the only thing that Accelerator has taken note of is the name "Misaka." He hasn't thought about it too much, but it sounds familiar to him.

Hamazura leans to Accelerator's side and mutters, "You're sure that there's nothing—"

"I doubt she'd be like that if we had a molestation case on our hands," Accelerator answers, knowing this is what Hamazura has been worried about. "I have no idea why she was naked and wandering the streets, but…" Accelerator clamps his lips for a brief moment. "I saw no trace of anything down there. And trust me, _I've seen what an assault victim looks like in every disgusting detail_." His voice gets so low that Hamazura barely comprehends the rest, "Even a kid can understands what happens in those situations. No matter how airheaded they are, and even if it's meaningless."

The sudden, candid admission from the albino takes Hamazura by surprise. Accelerator doesn't add any details, but it's clear enough to Hamazura that the albino has seen the grimmest sides of humanity.

"…if you happen to know anyone who might have temporary clothes for that brat," Accelerator continues nonchalantly, "you should contact them. I can't take her out to shop for clothes with _only_ a loose shirt on her. Unless I want a rap sheet."

"Well, I think I might know someone."

"Oh?"

"It's my teacher. She's kind of, um, special." To illustrate, Hamazura directs Accelerator to a framed class photo hanging in the living room, all while he peels away an onion.

Accelerator examines the photo for a brief moment and frowns. He subtlety slips from his pockets a pair of glasses and looks again before swiftly hiding them. Indeed, his vision isn't deceiving him. "That… _pink_ _thing_?"

"She's not a thing!" Hamazura bellows from the kitchen.

Accelerator continues to examine the blond's supposed teacher with a sense of dread and awe. _These experiments are starting to get ridiculous. Are researchers that bored with normal esper studies now…?_

With a glimmer on the end of his knife, Hamazura cuts bits of onion without getting a sting in his eyes. Throwing a handful of them into the pan along with unnamed spices, he starts cracking eggs and mixing butter with them. He asks offhand, "You want some, Accel?"

Accelerator's brow furrows in incomprehension.

Hamazura fiddles with his paddle. "S-Sorry, I just thought—"

"It's fine to call me that; it's not the worse nickname anyone has given me," Accelerator says curtly. "And yes, I'm a bit hungry. So make extra if you want." Keeper's visit hasn't allowed him to cook something up, so it's natural to acquiesce to Hamazura's friendly gesture. Even if he feels somewhat uncomfortable about it. _It's payback for handling the brat._

Last Order's ears perk up as a sweet smell invades her nostrils. "Oh, will Misaka really get to taste home cooking for the first time? says Misaka as Misaka is excited by this new experience!"

"Ahh, wait a few minutes and Hamazura's expert scrambled eggs will blow your mind!"

Last Order claps her hand with juvenile excitement and starts enunciating trivialities with third-person narration.

Accelerator isn't registering the words being said. There's a somewhat detached, but pleased look creeping its way around his mouth and cheeks. It isn't a smile, but it's halfway there. The impending doom of the universe has been off his mind. And it has everything to do with the fact that he is with these two people, who were strangers to him only half an hour ago. He has no accurate words to describe it, but he thinks, with a certain level of incredulity, _I feel like I'm in a foster family somehow._

"And it's done!" Hamazura announces as the oven rings. With almost supernatural ease, he juggles the hot toasts while placing portions of the creamy scrambled eggs onto plates. "Everyone to your seats," he orders, pointing at the kitchen counter with a self-satisfied grin.

Accelerator rolls his eyes, but follows the excited Last Order. The plates with forks are set before them by Hamazura, who stands there with satisfied expression, arms akimbo on his ironic "World's Best Dad" apron. Or, at least, Accelerator hopes for Hamazura's well-being that he is smart enough to not knock up a girl this early in life.

"Dig in!" says Hamazura. "I'm sure you'll like it." Silently, both the albino and the young girl took a bit of toast with the scrambled eggs. After chewing, tasting, and swallowing, both their eyes widen.

Accelerator speaks up first, "You cook like a housewife."

Hamazura's sweat drops. "Um, that's a compliment I guess?"

On her end, Last Order's loose strand of hair flicks with joy. "The creamy texture and sweet taste are beyond Misaka's words! exclaims Misaka as Misaka thinks that she only wants to eat Hamazura's food starting today!"

"Onion and spices go a long way in cooking," Hamazura sniggers.

"Is this your job?" Accelerator voices his suspicion.

Hamazura nods. "I work part-time in a family restaurant, so yes."

"I see."

"Ah, Misaka's brain really needed a refill after that tedious Rubik's cube, says Misaka as Misaka's brain is thankful for the nutritious meal."

"You're going to need those nutrients for your brain," Accelerator notes casually. "That Rubik's cube ain't gonna solve itself."

Last Order has just taken a mouthful of eggs and toasts, but she talks back. "Ononnonnmo munonyonnyon!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, brat," Accelerator chides.

When her mouth becomes empty, Last Order addresses him again. "But Misaka has solved it! reveals Misaka as Misaka points to it on the sofa!" Immediately after, she digs into her plate again with a voracious appetite.

Accelerator stares at her. And he stares at the sofa. And he rises and goes there. And he takes the Rubik's cube in his hand. And going back, he slams it down on the counter, making the utensils clatter in the plates.

"What. Is. That."

Last Order tilts her head, not understanding the albino's reaction. Hamazura watches, stunned as Accelerator. "It's complicated at first, but if you plan out where you need to move, you can achieve it after some time, explains Misaka as Misaka outlines what she did. It takes a lot of time and good planning to do the motions though! declares Misaka as Misaka boasts about her intelligence!"

Accelerator shoots a "are you believing this shit" glance at Hamazura. The blond shrugs, unable to add anything. _This kid has some talent_, he thinks. _The odds that she could solve it by pure luck and random shuffling is too low. _With a simple sigh, the Level 5 accepts the fact that he has been defeated. "I am a man of my word. We'll go get ice cream by 12 tomorrow. Weather reports said it's going to be roasting tomorrow."

"Ne, you're going to invite Hamazura to join us too, right? asks Misaka asks Misaka."

"Oi, that wasn't part of the deal. Don't change the terms after you won."

"Well, tomorrow I'm working," says Hamazura, "but I can manage a break. It has to be close enough to my workplace though."

Accelerator's head jerks. "Why are you joining in, you motherfucker?!"

"I-I was just saying!" Hamazura mumbles quickly, directing his attention elsewhere as he jabs his eggs with a fork. "Actually, we do serve ice cream where I work... The same grade you'd find at a stand... Sundaes, parfaits, in a bowl with whatever flavor and toppings you want…"

"Is your workplace that desperate for new customers that you shill out for them with such transparency?!"

Hamazura scratches the redness on his cheeks and laughs quietly. "At least I'm suggesting a convenient place with guaranteed quality and customer satisfaction, ha ha…"

"You're even talking like an advert, you damn Level 0! Is this the how low poor students have gone?!"

"Ah, that sounds like a good idea! We can enjoy quality ice cream with air conditioning, says Misaka as Misaka is glad everything is working to her advantage."

Hamazura gives her a thumbs up, a cheery grin on his face. "You betcha!"

"You're gobbling up everything he says, you gullible kid!"

Accelerator feels his teeth grit together from sheer irritation, something he hardly does. A simple click of the tongue sufficed for years. But not any longer. Dealing with an average student and a strange girl that narrates herself is rendering him speechless and weary. At least it's better than chain-smoking in a corner, waiting for the universe to collapse. _The wonders of social interactions_, Accelerator thinks, becoming increasingly aware of his ambivalence.

•••

Kihara Nirushu has finished investigating the facility where Last Order had been stored. It was exactly as his father had said, and he found nothing worthwhile that could help him determine anything about what happened or who had broken in.

He's relaxing in a room full of computers processing data from the Misaka Network. The employee that had discovered Last Order's disappearance is there with him, also drinking coffee. It so happens that he had occasional encounters in the past with the researcher. And not the sort involving spread legs—women passed thirties are at the bottom of Nirushu's list, right next to Magical Powered Kanamin cosplayers and bunny girls.

"How fucking annoying this is going to be," Nirushu utters as he brings a cup of coffee to his lips. There's a headache bothering him that waxes and wanes for some reason. Applying pressure to his temples reduces the sharp pain for a moment. Perhaps it's the alcohol from earlier taking its toll on him. What he knows is that he's going to get aspirin the first thing out of here.

"I wish I could tell you more, but"—Yoshikawa Kikyou reads the diagnostics on a screen and shakes her head—"I don't see anything abnormal, besides Last Order not being connected."

"Yeah, I looked over that data—nothing worthwhile showing up. Tsk, whatever! We can just catch the brat then reformat her brain with Testament. It doesn't matter what kind of shit they put inside her head. Like any computer, a full hard drive wipe will do the trick."

Yoshikawa's eyebrows lift. "You do know how risky and dangerous that is, right?"

"If the strain of the procedure ends up frying her brain…" Nirushu shakes his head as if being told the brand of ice cream he likes—pistachio, by the way—isn't in stock. "Eh, what can you do? For all we know, she has a virus in her waiting to trigger and infect the Misaka Network, turning about—" Nirushu blanks out on the number. "Wait, how many are left after Number One did his thing?"

"Less than 10,000, when the project was deemed a failure," says Yoshikawa bluntly but not without something weighing down her voice.

"Well, you get what I'm saying. Better her than crazy clone bitches running around fuckin' everything up. I could just have her riddled with bullets and clone a replacement," says Nirushu without a hint of shame. "But_, since I'm nice guy_, I'll try to not sink to the level of child-killing African warlords."

Setting aside the cup of coffee, Nirushu starts to walk in circles, hands buried in his pockets. "What I'd really like to know is what kind of joker did this. I looked into the security system, and it's completely disarmed. And there's not even a fucking trace of any tampering! Want to know how unusual that is?"

"Let me guess: very unusual?"

"Barely ever such perfection is achieved against the systems developed in Academy City. Even the best in the business _will_ end up leaving a trace—that they've been there, if you look hard enough."

"One person that comes to mind is Amai Ao," Yoshikawa says halfheartedly, the gaunt look of the Radio Noise researcher popping into her mind. "Though I can't imagine why he would be doing something like this. Even with his debts."

"Too much of a small fish in my opinion. But if he's involved, I'll make sure to shove that pissant ass-first on a pike."

"And it wouldn't explain the apparent security expertise, would it?" Yoshikawa continues to speculate out loud.

"We aren't dealing with something ordinary here. We might have a group of high-level defectors on our hands. _And that's the real problem here_. Worst case scenario with Last Order is that we have to kill her. But, can you imagine the _veritable shitstorm_ that would occur if the whole world discovers we've been lying about cloning?"

Yoshikawa isn't about to stop the increasingly more hurried steps or louder ramblings of the Kihara. She sips her coffee while trying to find anything of interests in the data on her screen.

"We signed a legally-binding treaty that prohibits cloning of humans. Although it means nothing for the big superpowers, as they could very well disregard it without consequences, for Academy City that would stop any of our current negotiations with Japan for city-state recognition. Europe plus Russia would flip out and _finally_ have a reason to take shots at us with sanctions at the UN. No amount of favors would make the Americans or Chinese stand with us with their veto power." Nirushu's spine jolts up, feeling chills from his own analysis of the situation; as he is about to deliver the dire conclusions, the only audience he has is a bored Yoshikawa cupping her cheek and sipping coffee, eyes on a monitor.

Nirushu's shoulders sink. "You aren't even listening, you useless idiot…"

Yoshikawa rolls her chair around, and brushes her hand on her chin thoughtfully. "I have no stake in this at all, so it's quite hard to be sympathetic. After all, _you're the one worrying about your family's position and reputation_."

Nirushu glares for a moment; then he crosses his arms and pouts. "Point. Taken." He takes heavy steps towards Yoshikawa. "But this concerns you too y'know? Most of us could be brought to an international court for crimes against humanity. Whatever that's supposed to mean!" The last phrase makes Nirushu throw his head back and laugh spontaneously.

"I have a feeling you're underestimating this city and its abilities when it comes to silencing dissent from inside its own ranks," Yoshikawa remarks soberly. "And how much weight it can move around on the international stage."

Nirushu shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Unfortunately, for most situations, you have to be a pessimist to be a realist," he says, ruffling his hair back into order. "But you're right; at the end of the day, this will end up being some mundane security breach that nobody will remember, with its perpetrators buried ten foot under."

Yoshikawa nods silently and stares off into her haphazard reflection in the coffee mug.

"One question though," says Nirushu in a flat tone.

"Yes?"

With barely any time to react, she's lifted up from the chair and Nirushu shoves the palm of his right hand onto her face; a puff of gas emanates from it, and it fills her mouth and nostrils. She coughs in shock and surprise; instantly, her spine and the innermost part of her brain seem ridden with pleasant tingles that act like sparks. "Are you sure you don't have anything to say? A little somethin' you rather not say?" Nirushu drawls in an almost hypnotizing way, an eyebrow lifting up and down suggestively.

Yoshikawa feels her knees go weak. She can't clear her thoughts or focus on anything else but Nirushu's words. Her heart rate skyrockets—it pound in her ears—as does her breathing; her ability to think rationally has went away. "C'mon, you gotta help me out here… You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Nirushu insists, tugging at Yoshikawa's chin like a playful lover.

"I-I—don't—know…" the researcher lets out, her body twitching and going limp. The blond's expression turns stern; he drops Yoshikawa back down into her chair. Immediately, he goes over to a server console and pulls a wire from his wrist, plugging it into a compatible socket for a moment and typing a command on a keyboard.

Nirushu comments absentmindedly, "You should pack up and leave. Go take a vacation or somethin'."

Yoshikawa has barely caught her breath, the effects of the gas waning but still strong. "What… was that?"

Nirushu unplugs himself from the console and glances over at the perturbed dark-haired researcher. "Oh this?" He raises his right arm. "It has quite intense psychological properties as you can see. Far more effective and easy to use than truth serums. Don't worry; it'll wear off completely in a minute or so. I gave you a minimal dose—too much and it would turn you into a drooling, love-smitten retard."

For a moment, Nirushu's eyes linger on his right palm. _I honestly rather not use it considering how it got made on my back, but…_

The Kihara sighs to himself and strides stiffly out of the room. He does a half-hearted hand gesture at Yoshikawa, "Catch ya later…"

•••

Water runs in the sink as Hamazura scrubs the dirty plates and utensils. He whistles gently to himself, head swaying side to side, "If my homework is done right, sensei will treat me nice~ But procrastinate to next night, then extra lessons won't be nice~"

"And if you stop those shitty rhymes this night, I won't strangle you with my right," adds a voice cold as steel, slashing through the lighthearted singing of the blond. Accelerator's restless fingers repeatedly hit the counter; his soberness, thoughtfulness, not to mention irritation showing.

Hamazura's tongue stiffens as he gets the message. _At least my summer homework is all done, and I can escape Komoe-sensei's extra lessons,_ he rejoices.

There's a big yawn that comes from Last Order. The girl has her head down on the kitchen counter and she nuzzles into her own arms. "Misaka is feeling sleepy, says Misaka as Misaka…"

Accelerator shakes her and raises her chin up. "Oi, kid! Not now. I have some questions first."

Last Order yawns to his face and lets out a whiny whimper. She tilts her head cutely and mumbles, "Can you take Misaka to the sofa and have Misaka rest her head on your lap? demands Misaka as Misaka puts forward her condition for keeping her awake awhile longer."

Accelerator freezes. It's subtle, but his skin is far less pallid than usual as the blood underneath courses through faster. To not burst out laughing at how flustered the albino is by the little girl's request, Hamazura has to bite down on his lip. Thankfully, Accelerator's brain is too busy rebooting to notice his amusement.

With tact, Accelerator lifts Last Order and carries her to the sofa; he sits down and places a pillow on his lap, which he rests the girl's head on. A strange chill goes through his back as she stares up innocently with glazed eyes. It's not unpleasant, but it's such a foreign feeling that it's unsettling. "That name, Misaka… Does that have anything to do with the Number Three Misaka Mikoto?" Accelerator says as it's the first thing he has in mind. Anything to not think too much about his current position and how it makes his stomach flutter.

"Misaka is one of 20,000 clones of Misaka Mikoto, says Misaka as Misaka is being honest to you."

"A-A clone?" Hamazura babbles as he folds his apron. "Isn't that illegal by international conventions?" Looking for some sort of input on the Level 5's part, he sees the albino shaking his head, an implicit "shut your trap" on his lips.

"So you're really a clone," mutters Accelerator, taking in the significance of such information. "And there are 20,000 of you out there?"

"This Misaka is special, as Misaka is a Control Tower for the Sisters, says Misaka as Misaka begins to use some confusing terminology."

"Sisters—that's what the clones are called?"

Last Order lazily nods. "Misaka and her Sisters form a brainwave network called the Misaka Network, which Misaka is the Administrator of. It allows us to share experiences, knowledge and feelings, explains Misaka as Misaka attempts to be concise."

"A network? Hm, I can see how that can work with clones all sharing the power of an electromaster. Simpler and far more stable that forcibly altering the brainwaves of different types of espers and then linking them up." Although the technical details fascinate him, Accelerator suspends his curiosity on the matter. "So, what does that have anything to do with you wandering out there in your birthday suit?

At that, Last Order blushes just a little bit, and appears lost. "Misaka… doesn't remember why, says Misaka as Misaka twiddles her thumbs…"

"You have no recollection?"

"Misaka remembers seeing Hamazura and thinking, 'This person looks kind and could help me.' But Misaka cannot remember before that, says Misaka as Misaka begins to yawn again..." Hamazura flashes a prideful grin, his ego inflating slightly; any given compliment is appreciated.

"Can you at least tell me one thing?" Accelerator speaks after a moment of thought. "Why in the fuck did Academy City make 20,000 clones?"

"This Misaka has only recently been created for the administrative purposes, but Misaka can explain. Originally, the first Sisters were born from a project called Radio Noise, which wanted to create military-grade clones of a Level 5. However, the project was a failure in creating true clones of Mikoto-oneechan due to technical limits."

"So, they ended up creating 20,000 clones for a failed project?"

"No. It's because the concept of Radio Noise was reused for the Level 6 Shift Experiment, says Misaka as Misaka—"

"_Wait_." Accelerator's nerves stiffen. "Run that by me one more time?"

"The Tree Diagram supercomputer calculated that if the Number One Kakine Teitoku were to kill oneechan 128 times, he would reach SYSTEM, says Misaka as Misaka recalls the details of the plan. However, since it is impossible to make a perfect clone, 20,000 inferior clones would be a working substitute according to calculations, says Misaka as Misaka specifies the logic of the plan."

The two teenagers look at each other, a sudden graveness shared between them. It strikes them like a rusty knife hollowing out a hole in their back, scraping out muscle and bone. "Are you saying 20,000 clones are…" Accelerator trails off as he feels his mouth getting dry.

"Half of them have been killed… until the experiment was deemed a failure a week ago, says Misaka as Misaka doesn't know what to add…"

"10,000?" Hamazura can barely say that number without his gagging reflex kicking in; his arms become slack against his sides, his bewildered and horrified stare fixed on the albino, who stares back. Accelerator is speechless, and the only discernible things on his face are slight wrinkles on his nose. By the time either of them let out a discernable word again amid meaningful silences, Last Order has fallen into a heavy slumber. She snores lightly, even after admitting such horrible truths.

"What the hell was that?" Hamazura asks frantically. "S-She was talking about thousands being… _being fucking murdered_!"

"Hamazura," Accelerator intones, glancing down at Last Order with fascination for her existence and dread of the horrible secrets she carries with her. He lowers the pillow Last Order's head rests to his side. He rises and languidly shakes his head. "You shouldn't have heard any of that."

•••

Lush and smelling like primordial nature, there's a small tourist town in the countryside of the United Kingdom. It has a cozy inn, beautiful landmarks prime for photography, and delicious foods made with the oft-forgotten knowhow of the common peasant.

It's supper time. There are fewer customers than what is usual. Not that the manager worries about his bottom line. A white-robed, silver-haired nun is making him a fortune with the quantities she is ordering. Considering the obvious prestige of her and her two companions, he feels satisfied and hopes they recommend his establishment to their other well-off friends. Perhaps he will give his employees a bonus for the extra work put into pleasing this special and _very_ demanding customer.

Besides the profitable nun are two persons who both appear to be her polar opposite due to their lacking appetites and the brooding air about them. The first is Kanzaki Kaori, one of the twenty Saints of the Magic Side, who is staring out at the sad evening clouds above. It isn't new to her as her current home, England, has its fair share of rainy days. Too many, most would say.

Next to her is a red-haired boy with an imposing stature, Stiyl Magnus. And yes, boy—that is still a proper word for describing a fourteen year old who chain-smokes and could pass off as being above twenty of age. He is busy observing the nun gobbling food up and stacking plates into a contrived comedic arrangement; postmodern artists would surely get hot and bothered over it and interpret it as poignant commentary on the submission of the culinary arts to capitalism's mode of production. As Stiyl thinks about going out for a smoke, a new customer rings the front door.

It's a quiet fellow clad in linen robes, covered from head to toe in tiny raindrops; the robe goes over his hair, but it doesn't hide his Mediterranean features. Quietly, he sits down in a booth and orders green tea and cheese bread from the menu. Overhearing his modest accent makes Kanzaki take note of him. It's easy for her to detect that English isn't his mother tongue, as even her relatively proper English still has a slight bit of an accent. With many travel experiences under her belt, the Saint thinks that he is from one of the former French colonies like Morocco or Algeria. _Is he a local or a visitor?_ she wonders. In both cases, she's unsure why he's dressed in clothes fit for a homeless man. But, something else strikes her about him: the serenity his face shows. It seems so sincere that it warms her otherwise cold heart.

Kanzaki goes back to staring outside, then towards Index—short for Index Librorum Prohibitorum, a living container for the knowledge of 103,000 grimoires. At first glance, you can't fathom that this gluttonous, easygoing girl could hold such dangerous knowledge. But first impressions deceive; this girl has the potential of a Magic God lying dormant in her. But this isn't a blessing. It's a horrible burden. Each year she has to have her memory wiped clean for her to live—an effect caused by her safekeeping many grimoires with the aid of her natural talent, photographic memory.

Both Kanzaki and Stiyl know it all too well. Years before, they had been her guardians and dearest friends, until they had to rob her of the memories they had made together. Afterward, they had attempted to restore that lost friendship, but back then the wounds were all too fresh. It had made it impossible. So, with time, they started to pretend to be her enemies. The only memory she would have to lose is that Kanzaki Kaori and Stiyl Magnus are the despicable people that wiped her memory clean.

But now, after her recent memory wipe, they are back into this uncomfortable position where pretending supersedes honesty. Friendship with Index is easy; the problem comes from them, their memories of the past hampering any meaningful connection besides nice words, smiles and paying for food. They did not want to go through the agony of losing her again. Now, they aren't sure what strains them the most: to be her self-declared enemies, or crafting memories that will be burned to ashes in a year. For now, this could do. But for how long could they keep up this hurtful charade?

Suddenly, Kanzaki feels her stomach furl; her eyes shot open. She wonders if it's just somatization on her part, until she notices that the restaurant is now empty; customers and waiters had vanished when _they had just been there_ last time Kanzaki looked around. Except for the stranger in the linen robes. He is taking a last bite out of the warm cheese bread and sips the remainder of his tea.

And he tilts his head her way. "Who do men say that I am?" the stranger asks with a passive tone.

He is gazing at her—no, at Index.

"What?" Kanzaki rises, a hand gripping the hilt of her nodachi, Shichiten Shichitou.

Before she sees anything happen, Stiyl shouts Index's name and cradles her now unconscious form. "Index?!" He glides his hand over her neck then forehead, checking her life signs.

"Stiyl, stay back," Kanzaki warns. "If he went through a Walking Church's defenses like that…"

There's something new she feels around this stranger; something foreign that she has never come in contact with before. It frightens her in a subconscious way she is unsure of. It's like a monster slowly surfacing from the depths of the sea: the first thing you see is giant blob, a plain shadow. But it's enough to frighten you.

"Some say I am the firstborn of Satan; others, a vulgar apostate; a wise man even claimed that _I_ am the Power of God which is called Great." The stranger says these words as he treads gracefully, his arms opening up towards the heavens.

Kanzaki readies Shichiten Shichitou to let forth her Nanasen. She can only say back quizzically, "What are you?"

"It's not very instructive if I spoil it." And before Kanzaki can even remove Shichiten Shichitou from her scabbard, a hand holds her back at its hilt; the stranger's hand is at her hip. At the same time, his other hand easily grabs Stiyl's collar, twisting and balling it up. "You have no say in this," he intones before propelling the overwhelmed Stiyl through the wall, like taking out the trash.

"Nanasen!" Kanzaki shouts as she overpowers the stranger, blowing him back with seven slashes. It leaves superficial damage on his robes, but he remains untouched, unlike the surroundings.

"Your magic—a mix of Western and Eastern traditions and of many religions. This will be entertaining, even if it's futile." The stranger smiles at her as they both circle around the devastated restaurant, big wooden splinters and rubble between them. "I am called Paul, preacher of the Gospel and of Good. Now, I would suggest that you back down and hand over that which I have come for."

Kanzaki peers down to the unconscious Index and back at Paul. "Do you take me for a coward?"

"Not at all," says Paul, holding a hand over his heart. "How lovely; how courageous; how pathetic… You want to protect this girl despite the pain she brings you. I commend you for that."

He knows what goes on in her heart through some magic, and Kanzaki doesn't want to hear any of it. It only intensifies her anger that he is trying to use such knowledge against her.

"Are you going to wait for my move?" he inquires. "Or is it that you fear you'll turn this pleasant little town into a crater filled with peasant blood? If my word is worth anything to you, I assure you that it won't. I've taken care of everything. We don't have to hold back."

And then, Kanzaki declares her intention, "Salvare000—Be the salvation of those who cannot be saved."

Paul's holds his hand out in the air; a gladius made of light manifests for him to wield. He points it at the ceiling and he declares his own intention, "Fides013—I ransom my soul to faith."

With an upward slash, Paul tears the roof apart and leaps up in the air, followed closely by Kanzaki. Instantly, the Saint uses her Yuisen and brings a powerful blow at Paul. He blocks with his sword then swings his body, undoing the blade lock. Paul engages again with a flurry of quick strikes that Kanzaki barely staves off, until they both land on the rocky, gleaming streets of the town. The Saint sheaths her nodachi; half a second, seven slashes come forth, blasting the surroundings into a cloud of dust.

But she sees a light inside it and it fires towards her; it's the sword, and it effortlessly phases through the many wires around her, going straight for her head. As she locks with the sword, Paul suddenly appears out of thin air, wielding the sword like his hands had never let go of it. Their blades clink and clank against one another, and he cracks a gleeful smile at Kanzaki's cold glare.

"Don't insult me with this; show me what your Creator has endowed you with."

•••

After thoroughly chewing on a piece of breath-enhancing gum and relaxing to the repetitive sound of raindrops hitting flat pavement, Nirushu tosses his gum aside and goes back to his van. What kind of person did Kumokawa suddenly turn him into? Into some sort of insecure teenager fretting over every detail to please a picky upperclassman? This isn't like him at all; this isn't how he goes about winning the seduction game. Sure, being proper with hygiene is important, but not consciously asking yourself, _Oh, is she going to like the scent of coffee in my breath? I better chew some gum just in case! _The headache from before hits him again at full strength.

Nirushu sits back into the driver seat and wastes no time. "Alrighty then, I'll drive you back home. Sorry it took so long. By the way, are you a fan of sushi? I can get us a VIP table at the five-star restaurant of Crowley Avenue—" The blond realizes that he is speaking to no one. "Kumokawa?"

What Nirushu does see are a couple of cards on the front seat.

He takes them and reads the first one: **For you.**

He shuffles through them and sees a series of digits: **5. 4. 3. 2.**

"Wait, I've seen this before—"

The van bursts into a fireball, the violence of the explosion sending flaming bits of wreckage all around the deserted parking lot. Flaming wheels roll along the ground like tumbleweeds in old western movies; two go by the sides of a cloaked figure who watches the torso of the van burn brightly.

"Yes, it's been taken care of," the figure speaks into a cellphone. "I have Director Kazumi's advisor in my possession, and I have eliminated the person currently investigating our actions. Two birds with one stone. All too easy."

•••

"Accelerator!"

The albino pays no attention to the one crying out behind him and slinks into one of many alleyways, holding against him a sleeping young girl wrapped in a warm blanket. But his pursuer is determined and dashes in to follow him. Thinking he can lose him, Accelerator quickly weaves through the alleys. But somehow, a certain blond is now standing in his way.

"Why are you following me?" Accelerator says menacingly.

Hamazura wheezes hard, his face hot from the exercise. "You can't just take off like that without a word."

Accelerator almost wants to laugh at him—at his stupid face, at his stupid naivety, at his stupid tasty eggs. If it weren't for the fact that he had grown oddly fond of the blond, he would have. "Do you realize that by becoming involved with her, you will get a sure death warrant?" Accelerator asks with a cold scowl.

"What?" Hamazura almost sounds offended.

The albino growls impatiently and waves an arm Hamazura's way, manipulating certain vectors. A strong gust hits the blond—strong enough to plow him into the nearest brick wall. "You can't begin to understand how deep in shit _I_just put you in!" snarls Accelerator above him, condescendly looking down. "You've come in contact with the deepest Darkness in this city; get too righteous, and you'll be dead before you know it."

"And so what? Do you think I've not understood that already?!" snaps Hamazura, shakily standing up. In few times he's seen Hamazura as casual neighbors, and the brief time he has actually known him for the past few hours, Hamazura appeared to be a careful, unassertive person. But now, there's a sort of aura around him. One that casts him in a far, far different light.

Accelerator clicks his tongue hard enough that it sounds like wood being split in half. "Don't act fuckin' tough now. There's no use in _you_ caring about this. The only thing you'll find down that one-way road is a bullet between your eyes."

"What do you know about what _I _want?" Hamazura's voice surges. "I don't want to stand by when I've heard what I just heard!"

"I'm trying to save your parents some fucking money on your goddamn funeral. But if you're so retarded that you insist on throwing yourself into the lion's den—"

Accelerator's tirade dies down when a certain sound reaches his eardrums. Hamazura is laughing softly—laughing _at him._ It stuns the Level 5 that he, out of all people, would be laughing in this situation. "What's so funny?"

Hamazura beams and scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "You're only thinking about me right now. It's kind of embarrassing. I'm really not used to people who care so much."

Accelerator is perplexed; at least, that is the word he _could_ put on his befuddled state of mind.

But it's not the best one.

"What if I tell you I don't care about any of that?" Hamazura says with an honest voice. "Just come back home for tonight. I might be useless and bothersome, but…" A small, roguish smirk creeps up on the blond's lips. "Weren't you supposed to come over to my workplace tomorrow? You won't know where it is if I don't tell you. That kid is going to be hella mad at you if you go back on that pinky swear."

They both stand there for a moment.

Until Accelerator steps forward and gently pushes Hamazura on the shoulder. "It's your funeral," the albino sighs. "Any upcoming consequences are now your responsibility. Don't say I didn't warn you, idiot."

Hamazura walks right beside him and nods. "I know, Accel."

Accelerator's mouth feels sore and itchy. He has many words he wants to shout at the stupid blond idiot beside him, but they don't want to come forward, too shy and embarrassed. Most of all, Accelerator doesn't want to consider the meaning behind the blooming heat on his—

_Tsundere._

Accelerator twists and glares at Hamazura. "Did you just say something?!"

Hamazura jumps in newfound fright. "I said nothing! I swear!"

While Accelerator bickers and Hamazura defends his honor, he can't see that Last Order has grown a big smile on her apparently sleeping features.

•••

One of many houses is split in half by a penetrating blade swing, and from it the Saint Kanzaki Kaori and the one called Paul pace out, blades still clashing and locked in a tight duel. The latter holds his sword in a backhanded grip, parrying the Saint's unpredictable offense and outright deflecting certain blows. Despite appearances, Kanzaki is calmer than before. She has been steadily controlling her movement and breathing to invoke one of the many traits her birthright as a Saint had endowed her with: The Breaker of God. An ability she always hesitates to use. But she's convinced after gauging Paul that she can't afford to hold back.

The moment she enters that state, a sense of elation overtakes her. After many ferocious strikes, Paul's sword shatters, and he is blown across town at a dizzying speed. Before he even stands back up, Kanzaki is charging towards him. Holding his right palm open, Paul fires a beam of pure light directly at the Saint, but she splits it in two with her blade then propels herself downward at him. But it doesn't end there. Paul, extending his hand upward, immobilizes Kanzaki's blade at his wrist. And even with the superhuman strength she applies, she is unable to pierce his flesh.

"Impressive, very impressive," Paul murmurs, trembling under the strain. "But even then, you will not make a mark on my flesh. My Christ, unlike yours, only _appears_ to suffer, and only _appears_ to be crucified. Attempting to pierce my wrist and shed blood with your oversized nail will not work on me."

Kanzaki, even with the upper hand, feels a chill going down her spine. "What kind of Christian are you?"

"A good Christian by my standards; a heretic by yours, I suppose," he says in a tired rasp. "I am not used to fights. Even after absorbing so much magical knowledge for all these years, even after reaching a level worth of contesting for the title of Magic God, I'm still a weakling. _An abortion_. But you know why I will win, o Saint? My faith in the Good God, the Father of the Lord. Above all else, that is what you lack; that is what I have against your cursed flesh."

Kanzaki channels more of her strength into Shichiten Shichitou, and she boasts with confidence, "If your faith is so strong, tell me… Are you hoping for a miracle to defeat us?"

Paul groans as his wrist feels duller by the second. And then he says, with slight surprise, "Us?" There's a detail Paul had overlooked during their frantic match: runes all around, placed just under the gutters to avoid the ongoing drizzle. Kanzaki smirks as metal wires shot forth from many sides and binds Paul. To the side, a red-haired magician stands proudly with a rune between his fingers and a silver-haired nun hanging on his back. A great roar rumbles the surrounding; the ground underneath Paul breaks, and a pillar of fire consumes him entirely. The pillar grows a face and greets his master, Stiyl Magnus, before roaring again and plunging back to the depths it had just erupted from.

For a moment, there's a silence defined by the fact you could hear the light rattling of raindrops.

And there is laughter—loud and boastful. And there is a figure of light that levitates out of shattered ground. And then a thousand swords of light simultaneously appear and shoot forth, obliterating what little remains of the town. And the laughter grows louder as the figure of light takes on a human form—that of Paul. "Do you understand now? No matter what, no matter my actual skill, I will strive! For my strength above all is Grace—and what a wonderful gift it is!"

Shichiten Shichitou emerges firmly from the rubble, and the debris around Kanzaki violently scatters to the side. In a flash, Paul appears and locks with Kanzaki again. "I feel sorry for so-called Saint are the eternal slaves of the Creator that has begotten them—an abomination unworthy of prayers from which no true salvation comes!"

Kanzaki's feel her strength diminishing—due to her will to fight and the strain her Breaker of God state puts on her body. She pushes forward and clashes again and again with Paul at speeds the human eye could barely register. "Such anger… yes, you are fit to be one of its servants… A vengeful but just warrior," says Paul, evading all of the increasingly frenzied blows. "O wicked creature, to defeat you I needn't strength. Your mere existence will end you. Don't worry, the Index will be safe." A strange power begins to flow in Paul's free palm, welling up in it. "I only need it for a time. You can die happily, knowing your failure is not complete. _She will simply forget about you anyhow._"

"YOUU BASTAAAARD!" the Saint snarls in a mix of rage and frustration, and doubles her effort. By then, the town is almost completely flattened. _I have to end it now; I have to strike him down now! _Kanzaki thinks. _NOW! _Channeling all her might into Shichiten Shichitou, she breaks Paul's sword again then delivers a fatal blow downwards—

"_Antitheses_!"

Time grinds to a halt; a flash of light; grueling, mind-numbing pain shock her entire body. She screams in horror and utter helplessness. All she registers is that she hits the ground hard. The power that is hers, the power of a Saint, has left her for the time being; she trembles like a beggar out in a storm and everything feels so _cold_. She tries forcing herself up, but she can barely get on all fours. She crawls aimlessly and reaches feet—Paul's feet. Her clothes are stained with dark filth from all the fighting, but his robes aren't. They look so pure and white. For just a moment, she mistakes him for the holiest of holy men.

Paul yanks her up by her ponytail and places a new sword of light at the base of her neck. "The moment this fight started, I had already won, Saint. You have special flesh given to you by your Creator. You also use several different magical styles from different religions. Don't you think there are fatal _contradictions _at work? Picking and choosing from all these systems with different conceptions and deities is no laughing matter. Even if there are points of contact it is still contrived, unnatural. My Antithesis is an ability that allows me to bring out contradictions and cause an adequate blowback."

Kanzaki's mouth flows with a stream of blood, but she still utters, "A-Anti... theses?" In Church histories of all denominations, many heretical doctrines are recorded. But there is one heresy in particular that is regarded above all else as the greatest threat Christianity has ever faced. It had been put forward by a convert in the second century of the Common Era in a work titled_ Antitheses_. The controversy that it caused brought about a split in early Christian Churches.

"You're...?"

"The God of the Jews, the Creator God, the one who made all creation, _is not the Father of Jesus Christ_. What the Lord revealed to humanity was an Unknown God—a Good God." Paul smiles childishly as Kanzaki's eyes widen in shock. "Now, who do you say that I am?"

Kanzaki knows what he wants to hear, knows the answer Paul expects.

The clouds rumble, like in anticipation of an event not often witnessed. Kanzaki says it, "Marcion—"

And with a sharp horizontal slash, Paul swiftly silences her.

* * *

***grins***

**I hope the delay was worth it. I was in pain for so long because I didn't have the time to write this chapter down. **

**I could say many things, but I'll refrain from doing so at this stage.**

**Now for a fun fact. In modern French, "glaive" is a word that more or less means "broadsword," specifically the Roman gladius. However, glaive in English and earlier French means "spear." I plead guilty and admit that when I first wrote "glaive," I had the Roman gladius and "_le glaive de St. Paul_" in mind. Then I remembered this is English and checked a dictionary. **


End file.
